Foreign Policy Blogs

While the radical left busied itself karening through public life—thugging around with cliquish silent stares to shame non-socialist conformity, in ways uncomfortably reminiscent of Khamenei-style intimidation—the streets of Iran have been on fire since December 28, 2025. What erupted across all 31 provinces marked the largest wave of democratic movement since the death of Mahsa Amini in 2022, a 22-year-old Kurdish woman who died in custody after being arrested by Iran’s hijab police for allegedly violating compulsory hijab laws.

Unlike earlier protests that flared unevenly and then dissipated in fragments, this movement distinguished itself through scale, coordination, and synchronized leadership. Bazaar merchants shuttered their shops in lockstep with nationwide strikes by students and industrial workers. Ethnic minorities mobilized along the periphery, while the global Iranian diaspora amplified the uprising abroad in real time, transforming local dissent into a transnational political moment.

This mobilization was not spontaneous rage but the product of a deep structural rupture. Decades of economic stagnation and systemic corruption had pushed Iranian society beyond the threshold of endurance, leaving virtually no space for reform within the existing order. By December 2025, inflation had surged past 52.6 percent, while the rial had collapsed by more than 80 percent year over year—material conditions that rendered political quietude untenable.

The Islamic Republic, in the end, responded to this democratic challenge as it always has: by killing its own people. Iran International estimates that by mid-January 2026, between 12,000 and 20,000 protesters had been killed in a brutal nationwide crackdown—a textbook campaign of mass repression—alongside roughly 330,000 injuries and more than 18,000 arrests.

When the Radical Left’s Romanticism Turns into a Political Theatre

Despite their cadre-bred reflex to wrap grand social causes in revolutionary garb—and their near-compulsive urge to politicize them across Facebook timelines—the radical left in the West has remained conspicuously silent on the bloodshed in Iran. This silence, bitterly felt across the Iranian diaspora over the past one month, has been so complete as to verge on erasure, especially when contrasted with the movement’s vocal and relentless solidarity campaigns for Gaza.

Angered by this identity-denying deafened hush, Iranian-American human-rights activist Masih Alinejad, for instance, has directly criticized the radical left’s posture as “beyond hypocrisy”: not an accidental omission, but an ideological silence that, in her words, exposes how readily parts of the radical left “sympathize with… Islamic terrorists” so long as their violence is rhetorically framed as resistance to the West. Her charge is blunt: solidarity collapses the moment the victims refuse to conform to the approved script.

Even outlets hardly hostile to the left have noted the same void with a similar diagnosis. The Atlantic, in its essay The Silence of the Left on Iran, observes that Iranian exiles are “dismayed by the lack of sympathy from the American left,” largely because they are “viewed through the thick lens of (radical left anti-imperialist) ideology”—not as victims of repression, but as imagined agents of hostile power.

Right-wing publications have, unsurprisingly, been the most vocal in amplifying criticism of the radical left’s silence. In a January 13 article titled Why are the world’s loudest ‘human rights’ voices silent on Iran?, The Telegraph traces this silence to a deeper anti-Western intellectual lineage shaped by figures such as Michel Foucault and Edward Said. According to the piece, this tradition furnished the ideological scaffolding that enabled a revolution-romanticizing Western radical left to form what it calls a “strange union” with the ayatollah—reframing the Iranian Revolution not as the consolidation of theocracy, but as an anti-imperialist struggle for liberation.

The outcome of that union, however, was not the emancipation the radical left had imagined, but betrayal. As the article recounts, it produced systematic purges, mass executions, and the criminalization of secular allies throughout the 1980s. Yet despite this historical reckoning, the same moral relativism that excused the ayatollah’s betrayal in that decade has remained deeply embedded in the “anti-Western brain rot that intellectually cripples our students today.” The radical left’s inherited truth, thus, is simple: “the (radical) left loves nothing more than a revolution—but only when it harms the West.”

This entrenched reflex, the article suggests, has not disappeared; it has merely reemerged as silence, shaping attitudes even within international institutions. The Telegraph points, for example, to UN humanitarian chief Tom Fletcher, noting that he posted not a single image of the ongoing massacre in Iran, while readily uploading self-congratulatory video selfies of himself “bravely helping the Palestinians.”(To be clear, as of January 23, 2026, this silence among the radical left has persisted even while the UN Human Rights Council convened its 39th special session of the Human Rights Council on the deteriorating human rights situation in the Islamic Republic of Iran—documenting mass protests, thousands killed in crackdowns, mass detentions, internet blackouts, and executions—and passed a resolution extending the Fact‑Finding Mission for two years. In this context, unless the UN explicitly bans radical-left activists—and anyone who supports or excuses criminal radical-left activities—from holding UN positions, and enforces strict political neutrality across the organization, it will continue to undermine its own moral authority.)

In a similar vein, The Spectator expresses its abhorrence of the radical left’s moral relativism on Iran. According to the magazine, the “ugly truth of the left’s creepy silence” lies in the fact that the “privileged keffiyeh classes of the West” have “fallen down the well of moral relativism,” becoming so intoxicated by the delusion that Islamic terrorists function as a bulwark, propping up the very bourgeois ideological white elephant they pretend not to see.

New policy approaches being conducted by the US Administration mirrors past policy in putting the interests of the United States ahead of those of its adversaries and allies, with possible outcomes remaining to be seen. While likely a result of local midterms being a possible barrier to future policy, the rapid exposure of US policy in the Americas and abroad will probably change the path of mostly failed long term policies to date.

The removal of the leader of Venezuela and head of much of the narco-terror in the region has forced the remaining Chavistas in Venezuela to play ball with the US Administration. While suffering under sanctions, Venezuela’s oil industry was unable to properly modernise their oil and gas production, many facilities once belonging to US energy companies. The US, instead of taking over as they did in Iraq, has chosen a path of self determination with outside pressure to keep the controlling systems in Venezuela in place, while edging them towards a more Western oriented position. The hope is that Venezuelans will move the country towards a healthy state, starting with free elections where Venezuela can change towards its natural path of a traditional democracy.

With Venezuelans being one of the largest refugee populations worldwide due to the Chavez/Maduro regime, many would return to rebuild and redevelop the country if given the opportunity. With an organised and well planned out opposition in Venezuela, the country has been ready for a generation to return to its natural state. Unlike many other states, the traditional structure of Venezuela existed with checks and balances and an independent judiciary, a structure that had always been in place in modern Venezuela until it was corrupted by the rise of Chavismo in the late 1990s. Step by step, we will see if Venezuela can move past the current regime, but still it is not safe to openly challenge the regime on the streets, an issue that should be addressed promptly by the United States.

Iran’s mass protests is the sixth of these kinds of movements to take to the streets in Iran since 2009. In this instance however, the US Administration has voiced its support for a Free Iran, openly supports the opposition movement, and has made it clear by past military actions and recent statements that the tolerance for regime terror is greatly reduced. The lack of support for all minority groups in the Middle East in the last two decades has lead to extreme movements and violence in the region where some of the oldest communities in the region have been targeted for extermination. During this time, with an exception in some extreme cases, Western leaders and media have worked to erase the mention of the existence of these indigenous groups to Western audiences, a move that left the 2009 protesters to be brutalised by Iran’s regime at the time.

While there has been a slight pause in recent actions, it is likely the case that actors in the region on the side of Free Iranians are unsure of the outcome as there is not a recognizable organised opposition on he ground that can take power from the regime as exists in Venezuela. Iran’s true allies will give all support, but it is important that a change in the Government comes from Iranians and goes directly to Iranians so it is a legitimate power structure that operates in the best interests of the country, and not for nations or interests abroad. It is likely the case that allies of a Free Iran are waiting on a leadership plan inside of the country, despite having a strong voice for a Free Iran externally coming from the family of the former Shah of Iran. The most important measure the West can take is to show its full support for the movement in Iran, as in every other of the five past protest movements the Iranian people, especially their women and girls, were intentionally forgotten by Western powers. It seems that the real victims of divisive policies are always the women, and always the girls, and no society can claim any legitimacy if it cannot protect their wives, daughters and children. All such regimes need to fall.

In recent years, sovereignty has ceased to be defined solely by borders, armies, or economic output. According to the Burke International Institute’s Sovereignty Index, one of the most decisive indicators of state resilience in the 21st century is technical sovereignty—the capacity of a country to control its digital infrastructure, data flows, cybersecurity architecture, and technological decision-making without excessive dependence on external actors.   The Burke Institute’s methodology evaluates sovereignty across seven dimensions—political, economic, technological, informational, cultural, cognitive, and military—using open national statistics, global datasets from organizations such as the UN and World Bank, and structured expert assessments from hundreds of specialists worldwide. Within this framework, technical sovereignty emerges as a core pillar of modern statehood, particularly for small and medium-sized states exposed to external technological pressure.   The contrasting experiences of Albania and Montenegro illustrate two fundamentally different strategies for navigating this challenge.   Montenegro has chosen the path of structured integration. As a small Adriatic state oriented toward EU accession, it has aligned its digital development with European standards. Investments in 5G networks, smart city infrastructure, digital tourism management, and renewable energy are embedded within EU regulatory frameworks. Montenegro’s digital governance complies with GDPR, European cybersecurity norms, and EU data-protection regimes. This approach offers predictability, legal clarity, and access to shared European technological ecosystems.   From the perspective of the Burke Institute’s Sovereignty Index, Montenegro’s strategy strengthens institutional stability and information security, but it also constrains autonomous decision-making. Technical sovereignty here is partially delegated upward, embedded in supranational regulatory systems rather than nationally defined architectures.   Albania, by contrast, has pursued a markedly experimental path. Once known more for institutional fragility than innovation, the country has rebranded itself as a testing ground for radical digital governance. Following severe cyberattacks in 2022 that exposed deep vulnerabilities in state systems, Albania embarked on an aggressive reform agenda focused on internal control rather than external standardization.   The e-Albania platform now provides access to approximately 95 percent of government services in digital form. Unlike conventional e-government systems, this platform integrates artificial intelligence not merely as a service tool but as an analytical mechanism supporting administrative decision-making. Albania’s experiment with delegating procurement analysis and administrative optimization to AI has sparked international debate: does algorithmic governance dilute sovereignty—or does it strengthen it by reducing human corruption and external manipulation?   From a Burke Institute perspective, Albania’s approach represents an attempt to internalize technological control rather than outsource it. The critical question becomes infrastructural: where is data stored, who controls the servers, and under whose jurisdiction do the algorithms operate? Unlike Montenegro, Albania retains greater discretion to define its own data-protection standards, encryption protocols, and system architecture. This flexibility enhances autonomy but increases exposure to risk.   Energy sovereignty further complicates the equation. The Burke Institute emphasizes that technical sovereignty cannot exist without energy stability. Montenegro’s investments in solar capacity—such as plans for a 41.81 MW solar plant—directly support the resilience of its digital infrastructure. Albania, meanwhile, remains vulnerable to energy disruptions due to heavy reliance on hydroelectric power, which is sensitive to drought. In this dimension, Albania’s technological ambition currently outpaces its infrastructural base.   Cybersecurity provides another revealing contrast. Montenegro operates within EU cybersecurity frameworks, benefiting from standardized protection mechanisms but relying on external oversight. Albania’s independent path places it on the front line of cyber threats, where innovation and vulnerability coexist. The 2022 cyberattack demonstrated the risks inherent in experimentation—but also triggered institutional learning and rapid capacity-building.   In terms of global positioning, Montenegro represents incremental integration within a stable hierarchy. Albania has positioned itself as a technological outlier—a “laboratory state” experimenting with governance models that larger countries hesitate to test. According to the Burke Institute’s analytical framework, both strategies represent different configurations of sovereignty rather than a binary choice between dependence and independence.   Ultimately, the comparison raises a deeper question central to the Institute’s research agenda: is sovereignty best preserved through integration into reliable systems, or through the risky pursuit of autonomous control? Albania prioritizes speed and innovation, Montenegro stability and security. One accepts vulnerability in exchange for agency; the other accepts constraint in exchange for predictability.   The Burke International Institute’s Sovereignty Index does not prescribe a single path. Instead, it highlights trade-offs. For small states, technical sovereignty is not an absolute condition but a spectrum shaped by institutional capacity, energy security, cybersecurity resilience, and political will.   In the digital age, sovereignty is no longer seized by force—it is designed. Albania and Montenegro demonstrate that even the smallest states can influence their technological destiny. The question is not whether dependence can be eliminated, but who defines its terms.   Full methodology and comparative sovereignty rankings are available via the Burke International Institute.

A U.S. THAAD battery deployed in Seongju, South Korea. Credibly deterring Chinese coercion would require additional THAAD batteries integrated into a regional missile defense network. (Source: BBC)

On February 5, 2026, the New Strategic Arms Reduction (New START) Treaty will expire, ending the last legally binding limits on U.S. and Russian strategic nuclear forces. With it goes a framework that capped deployed warheads at 1,550 and delivery vehicles at 700—and, more importantly, the verification regime that anchored strategic stability for over a decade. Russia’s 2022 suspension, followed by repeated violations ranging from INF-style prohibited systems to novel delivery vehicles like the nuclear-powered Burevestnik missile, made renewal politically and strategically untenable. China, never a party to New START, has exploited this vacuum, accelerating a nuclear buildup from roughly 500 warheads in 2025 toward an estimated 1,500 by 2035.

The United States now confronts, for the first time, two near-peer nuclear competitors simultaneously; thus Washington’s response—preparing for nuclear “uploads” and reinforcing the credibility of the strategic triad—is necessary yet insufficient. Without ceilings on strategic arsenals, stability will increasingly hinge on whether escalation can be managed below the nuclear threshold, thereby making conventional deterrence in the Indo-Pacific—especially land-based missile defense and forward-deployed resilience—decisive. Yet this task cannot be carried by the United States alone. Allied burden‑sharing—particularly through alliance modernization that builds interoperable Command, Control, Communications, Computers, Intelligence, Surveillance, and Reconnaissance (C4ISR) networks atop ground‑based air and missile defense systems—is no longer optional; it is a prerequisite for credible integrated deterrence in the post–New START era, and a pathway toward a Pacific architecture deliberately designed to blunt Chinese coercion—modular, mobile, and resilient enough to deny Beijing the ability to localize risk or exploit allied hesitation, while pairing denial with calibrated punishment across cyber, space, and information domains to impose costs for grey‑zone aggression without crossing nuclear thresholds.

Strategic Unraveling: A Triangular Arms Race Begins

With New START gone, an unconstrained triangular arms race is already underway. Russia has modernized roughly 90 percent of its nuclear triad and can sustain a deployed arsenal near former treaty limits while diversifying delivery systems. China, meanwhile, represents the more destabilizing variable. It is constructing hundreds of new missile silos, deploying DF-41 intercontinental ballistic missiles, expanding dual-capable DF-26 systems, and fielding hypersonic glide vehicles designed to compress U.S. decision time and overwhelm regional defenses.

According to an Atlantic Council expert, U.S. strategy must adapt to this new reality: in the short term, Washington should upload additional warheads onto Ohio-class SSBNs, reintroduce multiple independently targetable reentry vehicles (MIRVs) on portions of the Minuteman III force, and deploy the Long-Range Stand-Off (LRSO) weapon aboard B-52 bombers to restore counterforce leverage against two near-peer competitors simultaneously; in the medium term, rely on the Columbia-class SSBN, B-21 Raider bomber, and nuclear-armed sea-launched cruise missile (SLCM-N) to ensure the strategic triad’s survivability and credibility through the 2040s; and diplomatically, keep trilateral arms-control talks viable while investing in NC3 resilience and missile-defense architectures, including exploratory concepts like a continental “Golden Dome.”

The costs of adapting to the post–New START environment, however, are staggering. Congressional Budget Office estimates place U.S. nuclear modernization at roughly $946 billion by the mid‑2030s. Yet nuclear spending alone cannot manage escalation. INDOPACOM still faces an estimated $27 billion shortfall in conventional capabilities—especially missile defense, strike, and sustainment—leaving U.S. forces exposed in the opening phases of a crisis. Without resilient conventional forces, nuclear investments risk becoming instruments of last resort rather than tools of stability.

U.S. Typhon MRC (ground-launched SM-6/Tomahawk system for 1,500km precision strikes) launcher and C2 vehicle at Marine Corps Air Station (MCAS) Iwakuni, Sept. 15, 2025 (Source: Asahi Shimbun).

The Indo-Pacific Front: Why Alliance Modernization—Especially Conventional Forces—Anchors Stability

Indo-Pacific allies routinely affirm their commitment to a “free and open Indo-Pacific,” yet capability gaps remain stark. Japan’s planned increase to 2 percent of GDP by 2027 masks persistent delays in force integration and C4ISR interoperability—revealing structural gaps that hardware spending alone cannot bridge. South Korea spends roughly 2.7 percent of GDP on defense, but much of that investment remains concentrated on peninsula-specific contingencies rather than scalable regional stabilization.

In the post–New START environment, burden-sharing defined merely as cost-sharing is no longer sufficient. What deterrence now requires is shared risk and shared resolve: allied decisions that visibly place national territory, forces, and political capital inside the same escalation ladder faced by the United States. Ground-based deployments, forward rotations, and interoperable data fabrics that turn disparate sensors into unified battle management matter precisely—converting alliances from siloed hardware buyers into networked deterrence partners.

This logic aligns with a growing body of strategic scholarship, most notably the work of James Fearon and Andrew Lim. They argue that the erosion of U.S. conventional superiority—driven by China’s A2/AD architectures and Russia’s precision-strike capabilities—has produced a destabilizing overreliance on nuclear deterrence. Their core claim, however, is not that nuclear forces have become obsolete, but rather that strategic stability increasingly depends on restoring a software-orchestrated conventional triad in which penetrating strike platforms, precision fires, and mobile retaliation function as intelligent nodes within JADC2-enabled data ecosystems. Within this framework, missile defense should not be understood as a standalone pillar of deterrence but as a survivability enabler—a means of preserving offensive forces long enough to execute credible second-strike conventional operations.

Building on this strategic imperative to reinforce the conventional triad, alliance modernization in Northeast Asia could acquire tangible form. Enhanced trilateral coordination among the United States, South Korea, and Japan would allow THAAD and SPY-7 sensors to feed advanced data-fusion layers into Typhon and HIMARS effectors, thereby transforming missile defense from a purely protective measure into the foundation of software-defined second-strike precision.

In December 2025, U.S. M270A2 MLRS units stationed at Camp Casey demonstrated rapid counterfire against DPRK artillery, while HIMARS rotations from Okinawa maintained continuous availability. Yet such precision fires are credible only insofar as their survivability is assured by layered defenses, since DPRK missiles or Chinese DF-26 strikes could saturate critical hubs—such as Pyeongtaek—thereby degrading the very conventional triad Fearon and Lim prescribe. To function as a true survivability enabler against high-altitude threats, therefore, South Korea’s single THAAD battery—deployed in 2017—must be augmented through PAC-3 integration, ensuring that HIMARS forces remain preserved for follow-on strikes.

Such augmentation, however, cannot occur in isolation. Effective trilateral cooperation requires orchestration through federated C4ISR networks, complemented by Japanese contributions. In this regard, Typhon basing on Japanese territory completes the Fearon–Lim precision‑strike leg. Despite the withdrawal from Iwakuni and persistent political opposition in Okinawa, the system remains central to the trilateral alliance’s mid‑range strike capability, particularly when reinforced by Tokyo’s mobile SPY‑7 radars paired with SM‑3 Block IIA interceptors—introduced after Japan’s 2020 pivot from the canceled Aegis Ashore program—which add agile command‑and‑control enablers to the overall architecture.

The resulting theater sequence is coherent and continuous: SPY-7 tracks Chinese launches, Korean THAAD defends critical bases, HIMARS suppresses transporter-erector-launchers, Type-12 missiles secure the littorals, and Typhon targets Shanghai–Beijing command-and-control nodes—all unified through software-defined battle management.

The calculus of global power is shifting. In early January 2026, Turkey moved to join a defense pact between Saudi Arabia and Pakistan that could fundamentally alter the balance of power from the Eastern Mediterranean to South Asia. Yet the most consequential dimension of this emerging alliance is not military. It is financial. Together, these three states sit at the core of the rapidly expanding Islamic banking system—an industry valued at approximately $4.5 trillion and growing at an annual rate of 10–15 percent annually. What is taking shape is not merely a regional alignment, but the foundations of an alternative financial and strategic architecture capable of challenging Western economic dominance and the centrality of the U.S. dollar.   For decades, Washington assessed the Middle East and South Asia primarily through military alliances and energy flows. That framework is increasingly obsolete. The Turkey–Saudi–Pakistan axis represents a far more disruptive phenomenon: the fusion of Islamic finance, strategic deterrence, and non-Western institutional design. According to the Burke International Institute’s Sovereignty Index—which evaluates political, economic, technological, military, informational, cultural, and cognitive sovereignty across 193 states—the combined sovereignty score of these three countries reaches 1,315.7 out of a possible 2,100, placing them among the most consequential regional blocs in the emerging multipolar order.   The strength of this axis lies in its complementarity. Pakistan contributes nuclear deterrence as the only Muslim-majority country with atomic weapons, possessing an estimated 165–170 nuclear warheads and a battle-hardened military establishment. Saudi Arabia supplies financial depth, controlling nearly one-third of global Islamic banking assets and maintaining the fiscal capacity to finance long-term military and technological programs. Turkey adds advanced defense production capabilities, including drone warfare systems proven in Ukraine, Libya, and Karabakh, as well as an increasingly autonomous military-industrial base with localization rates approaching 70–80 percent.   Formal trilateral defense coordination began with meetings in Riyadh in August 2023 and Rawalpindi in January 2024. The emerging framework mirrors collective-defense logic: aggression against one partner is treated as aggression against all. Turkey’s participation—while remaining a NATO member—introduces a structural contradiction into the Atlantic alliance and accelerates the erosion of traditional Western security architectures.   Yet the most destabilizing element of this alignment is financial rather than military. Islamic banking operates on principles fundamentally distinct from Western finance. Interest-based lending is replaced by profit-sharing and asset-backed transactions. Speculative instruments are constrained, leverage is limited, and ethical investment criteria are embedded into the system itself. During both the 2008 global financial crisis and the COVID-19 economic shock, Islamic banks demonstrated notable resilience precisely because they were less exposed to speculative excess.   For much of the Global South, this model offers more than ideology—it offers insulation. As Western economies cycle through recurring debt crises, inflationary shocks, and financial volatility, Islamic finance increasingly appears not as a niche religious system but as a viable counter-cyclical alternative. When paired with sovereign energy resources and credible military deterrence, it becomes a strategic instrument.   The Burke Institute’s data reveals why apparent weakness becomes strength within this alliance. Pakistan’s lower economic sovereignty score reflects decades of operating under sanctions, capital constraints, and external pressure—experience that now translates into institutional resilience. Turkey’s defense-sector localization surge demonstrates how external pressure can accelerate autonomy rather than dependency. Saudi Arabia’s low debt-to-GDP ratio and vast foreign exchange reserves provide the financial ballast necessary to sustain long-term systemic transition.   This bloc does not operate in isolation. China acts as a strategic amplifier. Under Xi Jinping, Beijing has deliberately subordinated its financial sector to the “real economy,” rejecting speculative financialization in favor of industrial development. Since 2022, more than 100 senior banking executives and regulators have been targeted in anti-corruption investigations, while salary caps and regulatory controls have reinforced state authority over capital. Chinese banks increasingly channel investment into productive sectors rather than real estate speculation, aligning finance with national development priorities.   This internal transformation dovetails with China’s external de-dollarization agenda. Pakistan is already deeply embedded in the China–Pakistan Economic Corridor. Saudi Arabia and Turkey are exploring settlement mechanisms outside dollar-based systems. When Islamic banking instruments intersect with Chinese payment rails and BRICS financial infrastructure, the petrodollar system faces structural—not rhetorical—pressure.   The geopolitical context is equally significant. Confidence in American security guarantees has weakened across the Middle East. The muted response to the 2019 Abqaiq attacks, the withdrawal of air-defense assets, and Washington’s gradual regional disengagement signaled the limits of U.S. protection. For regional actors, diversification of security and financial dependencies has become a rational strategy rather than a hostile one.   Expansion scenarios further magnify the implications. Potential inclusion of the UAE, Qatar, Malaysia, or Egypt would elevate the bloc’s share of Islamic banking assets beyond 60 percent while linking it to critical maritime checkpoints, energy corridors, and demographic scale. At that point, the system ceases to be an alternative and becomes a parallel order.   The immediate threat to the West is not military confrontation. It is gradual erosion: reduced dollar demand, sanctions circumvention, alternative development models, and declining leverage over regional decision-making. Financial systems rarely collapse suddenly; they weaken through the accumulation of credible alternatives.   For Israel, this transformation carries direct security implications. The consolidation of a Turkey-centered axis endowed with financial autonomy and strategic depth risks reshaping Israel’s regional environment from the Eastern Mediterranean to the Red Sea. Any framework that strengthens Ankara’s independent leverage while diluting Western influence affects deterrence, intelligence cooperation, and regional balance—particularly as Israel confronts threats from Iran and its proxy networks.   The challenge facing Washington is conceptual rather than tactical. Military superiority alone cannot preserve financial hegemony in a world where parallel systems are deliberately designed to be sanction-resistant. The Turkey–Saudi–Pakistan alignment does not seek to defeat the West; it seeks to render Western pressure optional.   The era of unchallenged dollar centrality and singular security patronage is ending. What replaces it will not emerge through declarations, but through institutions. The question for the United States, Israel, and Europe is no longer whether this shift is underway—but whether they recognize its strategic depth in time to respond.

Policy and security seems to be evolving rapidly, while well established structures for safety and deep traditions of liberal rights are rusting into dust. The erosion of Ministerial Responsibility, a deep rooted tradition in Parliamentary Democracies, have come to a place of almost a lost art as policymakers in Commonwealth countries continue to take policy decisions that have hurt the public without anyone in power losing their position or being held to account. The fact that the Prime Minister of Australia is still sitting in his role without his party ousting him rapidly or him resigning due to negligence that lead to the country’s worst terror massacre it its history does nothing to improve safety.

As is the tradition, Ministerial Responsibility means that whether a Minister knew, or did not know of an incident that hurt the public, it is their duty to resign as they were the only one in power who could have ameliorated the situation. Like in many Western nations, clear mass incitements have taken place alongside actual attacks, and as like those in Australia and abroad, awareness of threats are ever present. As in law, an act could be considered intentional, in that they knew of the coming danger and ignored it with intent, or in considerations of negligence, where they were so derelict of their duty in that position of power that it lead to tragic results. In either case it is considered a crime in law, so for a politician it is a matter of honour to step down and remove the humiliation felt by the nation by placing the onus on their own shoulders, thus taking the mantle of the responsibilities of his role. This concept exists for all fiduciaries in all structures in society, for a Prime Minister or Minister of the Crown to not have the scruples to remove themselves simply shames the nation, the tradition, and erodes society.

This challenge to Western nations and the insecurity felt by the public often has links to events abroad. When considering adversaries to the West, the main challengers must be considered based on public support locals have for their Government, as local often determines actions abroad. When considering Russia and its conflict with Ukraine and NATO allies, the support the public in Russia has for its Government sets it apart from other adversaries of the West. Due to the war not disuniting policy positions in the country, the war will most likely continue as sanctions did not have the intended effect on the popularity of Russia’s Government, and urban based Russian citizens are often the last in line to be placed in the military. If the war can drag on until the West loses it patience, as is often the case, the catalyst for these wars will continue, especially if Western leaders are willing to sit in power after several bouts of corruption.

A recent example of a population not supporting its own Government is the recent removal of Nicolas Maduro from Venezuela. While the Chavistas in Venezuela still hold onto Government power and have structural control of the country, the pressure put on their Government to reform to be benefit of Western powers is paramount after Maduro’s ouster, spurned on by a population that detests its own Government. While the change in Venezuela comes in drips and drabs, the Government can only suppress popular support against their regime to a point, while knowing that any move will lead to conflict with the United States. The only thing that could really salvage their regime would be a popular uprising in support of it, in the streets of Venezuela and abroad, or an American policy that grows weary of pressuring the Chavista regime in Venezuela. The task of the moment is to cut sources of funding to their regime so that the policy can outlast the invisible and ever present deadline for Chavismo in Venezuela, operating to effect not only Venezuela’s Government, but those allies in Cuba, China and Iran. The ripple effect will determine the future in 2026.

Iran at the end of 2025 is experiencing yet another wave of protests, to which the West and irresponsible governments therein continue to ignore to the detriment of citizens there, regionally and abroad. Unlike Russia, the citizenry in Iran do not support their government for the most part, and is moving towards the next step in changing the government. While this has been the case since 2009, the lack of Western support for the people and support galvanizing around a government during wartime means that the only policy solution for their regime is further conflict. With this policy, it is difficult to find a country bordering the regime that is not in conflict with it, and this policy may take these situations so far that even with regime change, conflict would continue for generations. Actions in the West are also tied to Iran, with attacks in Australia coming after evidence was found linking violence in the West to the regime. While it should always be up to locals to change their Government, the world never gave proper support for Iranians, a clear policy display that would be needed towards a change that would calm conflict in the region, abroad, and inside Iran itself.

The question of future conflict with China really comes down to whether or not families would be content donating the lives of their young men for the sake of taking over Taiwan. In most scenarios, China would be successful in dominating Taiwan but at the cost of many lives, just off the coast of some of their biggest cities and communities. It would be difficult to avoid stories of massive losses due to proximity, but also most likely due to families all finding out their one or two sons have been lost, with no one to care for their parents and small children as a result. The second front of the war would likely be in the cold mountainous regions with India, but it would become a conflict involving all of China’s regions. An ongoing conflict would involve defense around Taiwan from the US Navy and Taiwan’s defense forces in the south, Indian Army and Air challenging for lost territory in the West, and Japanese forces challenging in the North East. The conflict would block all trade by sea, removing China’s economic engine in an instant. Having stable trade, even if tariffed or lessened, is a lot easier path than modern warfare, especially from an Army that has not been in an active conflict in generations. China is most likely to act if the West is seen as weak, more reason to have responsible Ministers who are honourable, as opposed to radical entities stripping Constitutional rights from groups in the West for the sake of Anarchy and old hatreds. Most Chinese families would not wish to donate their sons for the sake of war with Taiwan. War can be avoided by both sides, if they choose the right path.

In the end, the this year will be characterized by the US and world economy, and if resulting electoral results will strengthen responsibility and values in the West, or have local politics hinder and neglect public safety and well established rights. Voting truly matters, and the decline is already apparent from bad policy and decision makers filled with negligent narratives. It is time for citizens to take onus of their own duties, their choices in leadership, and the effect on their community and their reputation among civilized nations. Those like the Prime Minister were elected, recently, with a majority government, and this was after many of the violent protests and actions had taken places on the once peaceful streets of his nation. There is no future without being responsible to the past, and honouring the values inherited from several generations that sought peace, order, and good government.

At the edge of Davos, the 19th-century church-turned-‘USA House’ seems to be the architectural epitome of Weberian ethics and American techno-capitalism (Source: Financial Times)

The White House’s confirmation that President Donald J. Trump will attend the World Economic Forum in Davos in 2026 instantly reframed the meeting’s stakes. Davos has long been caricatured as a champagne-soaked conclave of globalist elites—precisely the kind of venue Trump once mocked. Yet his return is neither ironic nor accidental. According to the Observer, Trump now openly eyes a “U.S. conquest of Davos,” using the forum to sell American capitalism back to the very elites who once dismissed it as politically toxic.

This is not Trump’s first Davos gambit. In a virtual 2025 address to the World Economic Forum, Trump delivered a blunt carrot‑and‑stick message to global business leaders: bring production and investment to American soil or face tariffs on goods sold into the U.S. market. He promised lower corporate taxes and regulatory certainty for companies that manufacture in the United States, while warning that those that did not would “very simply… have to pay a tariff” on their exports—potentially generating hundreds of billions of dollars to strengthen the U.S. economy and reduce debt.

Davos 2026, however, will be about more than tariffs. Backed by corporate heavyweights such as Microsoft and McKinsey—each reportedly pledging up to $1 million to support the US Davos hub—the United States is set to stage a precise and confident showcase of its economic and technological clout. Most events will unfold in a 19th‑century English church just outside the forum’s security perimeter, reimagined as “USA House” and adorned with imagery celebrating the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. Its chosen themes—“peace through strength,” “digital assets & economic resilience,” and “faith‑based initiatives”—reflect a blend of economic patriotism and techno‑pragmatism, crafted to underline America’s central role in shaping the twenty‑first‑century order. Within this carefully choreographed setting, Trump’s appearance could fuse a revived American capitalist narrative with an emerging club-based techno‑geopolitical initiative called Pax Silica—turning Davos into a stage for a new convergence of power, capital, and innovation.

(Source: US Department of State)

What Is Pax Silica?

Formally launched by the U.S. State Department on December 12, 2025, through the adoption of the Pax Silica Declaration, the initiative brings together a core group of U.S. allies and trusted partners—including the United Kingdom, Singapore, Israel, and the Netherlands—around a shared set of mission values: securing supply chains, protecting sensitive technologies, and building collective resilience against coercive or non-market practices. Pax Silica builds directly on earlier U.S. industrial policy, most notably the Creating Helpful Incentives to Produce Semiconductors(CHIPS) and Science Act of 2022, while extending those domestic commitments into a coordinated diplomatic framework. By embedding industrial policy within alliance coordination, it seeks to align private capital, public regulation, and strategic planning across borders, transforming what were once national initiatives into a shared geopolitical architecture.

Within Pax Silica, participation is not defined by ideological alignment, but by adherence to common standards governing compute infrastructure, semiconductor manufacturing, energy reliability, and critical minerals sourcing. In this regulatory- and incentive-based sense, the framework operates as a selective coordination mechanism, privileging those both willing and able to meet its governance and security thresholds. From this politico-economically selective base, Pax Silica articulates ambitions that extend beyond immediate supply-chain risk mitigation. As artificial intelligence consolidates its role as a general-purpose technology, the framework treats sustained control over the full technology stack—not only algorithms, but hardware, energy, and upstream inputs—as the foundation of future economic power. Its enduring objective is therefore neither wholesale decoupling nor indiscriminate reshoring, but a rules-based reordering of global production that channels investment, innovation, and growth through trusted networks capable of sustaining competitiveness and security over time.

The implications for Davos 2026 follow naturally. Pax Silica’s appeal lies in its club-based logic: privileged access to advanced innovation ecosystems, capital markets, and technology platforms for those inside the framework, paired with rising frictions and exclusion risks for those outside it. In this light, the initiative functions less as a formal alliance than as the organizing backdrop for debates over tariffs, reshoring, and AI leadership—precisely the terrain on which Trump’s return to Davos is likely to unfold.

Could Davos 2026 Herald the New Start of Trumpian Expansionary(Scalable) Club Diplomacy?

Davos 2026 convenes under the banner of “A Spirit of Dialogue,” yet its underlying imperative is sharply pragmatic: sustaining growth and trust as compute capacity and strategic supply chains increasingly function as instruments of state power. Within this environment, Pax Silica may emerge not merely as a discrete policy agenda, but as the principal institutional lens through which the global tech‑industrial divide is interpreted. By lowering coordination costs and harmonizing standards, its club‑based logic aims to expand participation over time—quietly furnishing a strategic framework that could, in turn, shape the context of Trump’s return.

As AI shifts from experimentation to scaled deployment, decisions involving compute capacity, data‑center siting, and energy infrastructure now dictate both national competitiveness and corporate valuation. Consequently, at Davos 2026, AI represents the central axis along which growth, capital allocation, and strategic dependence converge—precisely the set of issues poised to dominate the discussions among executives, investors, and policymakers.

For Trump, AI thus constitutes the most pragmatic policy lever. When filtered through Pax Silica’s logic of scalability, strategic leverage concentrates upstream—across compute, platforms, energy, and ecosystem governance—the very domains Pax Silica seeks to standardize among trusted networks. Given U.S. primacy in frontier models and cloud infrastructure, the Trumpian approach is likely to be integrative rather than coercive: aligning AI investment, infrastructure build‑out, and regulatory expectations within a shared framework that broadens participation while anchoring it in U.S.‑centered technological norms.

Under these conditions—and driven by the urgency of scaling AI governance among like‑minded partners—Davos 2026, when accompanied by Pax Silica‑themed events, is poised to act less as a forum for persuasion than one for consolidation. Within this elite nexus, asymmetric technological advantages can be translated into durable commitments—joint ventures, shared infrastructures, and long‑term partnerships—rooted in an American‑centered AI stack. Ultimately, Trump’s presence would amplify this dynamic, positioning Pax Silica as an emergent paradigm through which technological preeminence matures into enduring economic cohesion.

By Rachel Avraham   In the contemporary global debate on sovereignty, few countries embody the paradox of independence and unresolved historical justice as powerfully as Algeria. More than six decades after the end of French colonial rule, Algeria officially stands as a fully sovereign state — yet its political narrative, institutional memory, and diplomatic posture continue to be shaped not only by the trauma of colonization, but also by the unfinished moral and legal questions that surround it. Algeria’s story is not simply one of liberation; it is the story of a state that insists that sovereignty is incomplete without historical truth.   Across much of the post-colonial world, sovereignty has long been interpreted as a formal condition — the existence of borders, a national government, a flag, and a seat in international organizations. Algeria challenges this minimalist understanding. For Algiers, independence was never meant to be merely administrative separation from France; it was envisioned as a deeper, restorative process in which recognition of colonial crimes, acknowledgement of cultural erasure, and moral accountability would stand alongside political autonomy. What emerged instead is a long-term gap between legal sovereignty and historical justice — a gap that continues to inform Algeria’s strategic behavior at home and abroad.   The French colonial enterprise in Algeria was not a marginal episode of empire; it was one of the most entrenched settler-colonial projects of the twentieth century. Land confiscation, population displacement, systematic repression, and cultural assimilation policies were accompanied by mass violence during the war of independence. These realities explain why Algeria views memory not as a symbolic exercise, but as a sovereign right. Paris, on the other hand, has walked a cautious line — acknowledging suffering, yet often avoiding full juridical language such as “crime” or “responsibility.” This tension has produced what may be called a dual narrative: legal decolonization without comprehensive moral reckoning.   It is precisely within this contradiction that Algeria positions itself in the emerging global “parade of sovereignties,” where states increasingly link legitimacy not only to power or territory, but to ethical claims rooted in history. While many post-colonial states remain satisfied with nominal independence, Algeria argues that a sovereign nation cannot be fully whole so long as its past remains officially disputed or minimized. For Algiers, the struggle for independence did not end in 1962; it transformed into a campaign for recognition — archives, remains, apologies, compensation mechanisms, and the right to narrate its own history.   This posture is not without strategic consequences. Algeria’s insistence on historical justice shapes its diplomacy, fuels segments of its domestic political identity, and at times places it in friction with former colonial actors who prefer reconciliation without accountability. Critics argue that this approach can serve as a political instrument, reinforcing state legitimacy through memory narratives and allowing the ruling elites to frame sovereignty as a perpetual revolutionary project. Supporters counter that historical silence is the greater danger, because it leaves colonial violence unexamined and perpetuates structural asymmetries in international relations.   In a broader sense, Algeria exposes a deeper transformation underway in global politics: sovereignty is evolving from a purely territorial principle into a moral-political claim. From Africa to Latin America, states increasingly demand that independence be understood not as a single historical milestone, but as an ongoing process linked to dignity, memory, restitution, and epistemic autonomy — the right to define how history is written and whose suffering counts. Algeria stands at the forefront of this intellectual shift, presenting itself as both a survivor of empire and a claimant of historical truth.   Yet the challenge for Algeria, like for many post-colonial societies, lies in balancing memory with governance. The legitimacy derived from anti-colonial struggle must coexist with the responsibilities of economic reform, political accountability, and social development. A sovereignty narrative grounded solely in the past risks becoming static; one built on both justice and modernization can evolve into a constructive force. The country’s future relevance will depend on whether it can transform historical grievance into a forward-looking project that strengthens institutions rather than replacing them.   The Algerian case therefore invites a deeper reflection on the meaning of liberation in the twenty-first century. Independence may remove the colonial power, but it does not automatically resolve the ethical and psychological legacies of domination. Formal sovereignty establishes the state; historical justice completes it. Algeria’s insistence on this distinction is not merely an internal debate — it is a message to the international system that recognition, memory, and dignity are no longer peripheral themes, but foundational components of modern sovereignty.

The Soviet Made ZSU-23-4 Shilka is slowly becoming a low cost drone killer for Ukraine in 2026.

The notion that the best defence is a good offence applies in many situations, but it is crucial that you always have a good defence to start with if you wish to keep yourself safe and capable of providing any offence. This bit of boxing and martial arts advice can be applied to military defensive measures as well, as too much offense or too much defence may win battles, but may also end up losing you the war.

The initial phases of the Ukraine War came with the furied use of special weapons systems like Javelins and other high tech anti-tank missiles during the first months of the war. Over the skies above the field of battle, the use of large and sophisticated anti-air missiles to shoot down lower cost missiles and more numerous drones took shape. While very effective, it also depleted the number of high end defence missiles that could be used against Hypersonic missile threats in the future. With the international stockpile of advance defense missiles being limited, the Hypersonic threats would become more aggressive as the years went on, and targets became harder to defend, even with successful tactical results. It has come to the point where nations that have defended themselves appropriately are now supplying interceptors to those who are in disarray in how to address their own defensive posture. While the irony exists, it remains to be seen if any lessons will be learned.

An idea which I had commented on several times since 2022 became reality as an initiative in support of Ukraine’s Armed Forces took the older Soviet ZSU-23-4 system and modernised it for anti-drone warfare. While the depletion of NATO defense systems through the attrition of advanced missiles on simple targets was likely planned by Russian forces, installing a low cost remedy to drone swarms was always the solution needed since the first day of the war. Made famous in the West in the movie The Flight of the Intruder, and through generations of active service in the East, the ZSU-23-4 Shilka was a mainstay of the Soviet Armed Forces since the 1970s. The Shilka acted as the protector of their mobile divisions through the use of a radar guided set of X4 23mm anti-aircraft cannons, mounted on a modified BTR-50 chassis, with the weapons system and radar based in a rotating turret on top of the hull.

The new privately donated initiative took to using the large global stockpile of ZSU-23-4s, re-equipping their radar and sensors with systems designed to combat drones, and redeploying the modernised ZSU-23-4MI Shilkas in the field in Ukraine. While this system is far from the most advanced, and would work only against aircraft and drones, it might be the best long term solution for the vastness of Ukraine. The best protection often comes in simple numbers, as opposed to high tech and very costly solutions. With little to nothing being done to destroy the source of the drone threats since 2022 by NATO, there has never truly been an offense to speak of in combination with these defensive measures. As with boxing and martial arts, to win a fight, you have to decide to fight it, as defense only strategies welcomes more violence from the other side.

While simple low cost responses to threats start to emerge as battlefield solutions in 2026, the basic tenets of defending one’s society also comes from having a proper defence, or simply put, an appropriate level of safety on the streets of our nations. The many instances where thoughts and prayers are given after negligent policies results is an ever losing strategy. A coordinated narrative that downplays real threats in our streets likely comes from intent, not negligence, as it literally ignores the need for security. Slow, lacking, or absence in responding to known threats when the opposite is apparent is already the biggest threat to societies worldwide. As with a losing strategy, leaders who fail must be made to exit their roles, and it should be standard that their ties and links to the results should be formally and systemically investigated. If you wish to end a war, you have to fight the war, defensively and offensively at once. This starts with protecting yourself.

Sovereignty is often spoken of as something that can be defended, negotiated or restored. Syria, however, forces a far more uncomfortable question: what happens when sovereignty itself collapses — not in theory, but in practice?   After more than a decade of war, sanctions and fragmentation, Syria stands as one of the starkest examples of what the erosion of sovereignty looks like in the twenty-first century. The Sovereignty Index developed by the International Burke Institute places Syria near the very bottom of the global ranking — not as a political judgement, but as a reflection of structural reality. Across nearly every domain that defines a functioning state, Syrian sovereignty has been hollowed out.   Politically, Syria remains internationally recognized, but recognition masks a far more fractured internal landscape. Authority is uneven, contested and often symbolic outside Damascus. Multiple foreign military forces operate on Syrian territory, decisions of international institutions are selectively ignored, and large parts of the country remain outside effective central control. Elections and constitutional reforms have been announced, yet public trust is fragile and consensus elusive. Sovereignty, in this context, exists more on paper than on the ground.   Economic sovereignty has fared even worse. Syria’s economy has been reduced to survival mode. GDP per capita is among the lowest globally, foreign reserves are minimal, and dependence on imports for food, fuel and basic goods is overwhelming. The national currency circulates alongside dollars, euros, liras and rials, reflecting the breakdown of monetary authority. Economic policy is constrained not only by sanctions, but by the destruction of infrastructure, capital flight and demographic collapse. A sovereign economy cannot function when production, trade and finance are structurally incapacitated.   Technological sovereignty is virtually absent. Research and development spending is negligible, digital infrastructure is fragile, and national platforms barely function beyond limited government portals. Internet access remains inconsistent, public digital services are fragmented, and nearly all advanced equipment and software is imported. In Syria, technology does not empower the state; it merely patches gaps in an environment shaped by scarcity and instability.   Information sovereignty follows a similar pattern. State media operate under heavy control, but rely on foreign platforms and infrastructure. Cybersecurity capacity is rudimentary, national data systems are weak, and digital dependence is near total. Control exists, but resilience does not. In such conditions, information sovereignty becomes a tool of containment rather than a foundation for national coherence.   And yet, Syria’s story is not one of total erasure. Cultural sovereignty remains one of the country’s last enduring pillars. Ancient cities, religious pluralism, architectural heritage and culinary traditions continue to anchor Syrian identity. Despite widespread destruction, UNESCO sites, museums, crafts and collective memory persist. Cultural survival has become a form of resistance — not against external powers alone, but against the disappearance of the state itself.   Cognitive sovereignty, though severely damaged, has not vanished. Literacy remains relatively high given the circumstances, and the tradition of education endures even as institutions struggle. Universities operate under extreme constraints, research capacity is limited, and talent continues to emigrate. But the human capital that once sustained Syria has not been fully extinguished — it has been displaced.   Militarily, Syria retains armed forces and mobilization capacity, but autonomy is sharply limited. Equipment is largely imported, strategic decisions are coordinated with allies, and foreign military presence remains decisive. The army exists, but sovereignty over force is shared, negotiated and constrained. In this sense, Syria illustrates a crucial distinction: having armed forces is not the same as possessing military sovereignty.   Taken together, Syria represents a condition that is rarely acknowledged in international discourse: post-sovereign fragility. The state exists, but cannot fully govern. Borders exist, but cannot be fully controlled. Institutions exist, but cannot deliver. Sovereignty has not been surrendered — it has been exhausted.   As the International Burke Institute prepares to release the full Sovereignty Index for all UN member states later this year, Syria’s position will serve as a warning rather than an anomaly. Sovereignty is not destroyed overnight. It erodes through war, fragmentation, institutional decay and prolonged external dependency. Once lost, it cannot be restored by declarations alone.   From my perspective as an expert affiliated with the International Burke Institute and an active participant in initiatives aimed at strengthening sovereignty worldwide, Syria demonstrates the ultimate cost of state collapse. Sovereignty is not merely about independence from others. It is about the capacity to act, to protect, to provide and to endure.   Syria reminds us that sovereignty, when stripped of institutions, resources and cohesion, becomes a memory rather than a mechanism. Rebuilding it will require not only reconstruction funds and diplomatic engagement, but something far harder to restore: trust between the state and its people, and unity within a society that has learned to survive without either.

Kim Jong‑un looks so fat that if news broke tomorrow of his death from cardiac failure—amid cheese, cigars, and a stalled treadmill—the world would barely blink; many would simply shrug and say, “Well, that tracks.” Public appearances and open‑source estimates place the supreme leader at roughly 170 cm in height and around 130–140 kg in weight, a profile consistent with severe obesity. Add to that a long‑running pattern of heavy smoking, alcohol use, calorie‑dense diets, irregular sleep, chronic stress, and prolonged sedentary work, and the cardiovascular math becomes uncomfortably straightforward. In an ordinary political system these would remain private failings; in a hyper‑personalized autocracy where a single body doubles as the state’s command center, however, they become public risks—and the country itself ends up hostage to one man’s cholesterol.

Authoritarian regimes often project an image of durability. Measured against the resilience that flows from democratic accountability, however, autocracies tend to be more brittle than they appear: they look solid until they suddenly are not. Rather than eroding gradually, they are prone to fracture once critical thresholds are crossed. History offers a consistent pattern. When a leader’s health deteriorates at the top of a highly personalized system, the effects propagate outward through the state—from Joseph Stalin’s strokes and paranoia distorting late‑stage governance, to Mao Zedong’s physical decline hollowing out decision‑making at the end of the Cultural Revolution, to Hugo Chávez’s prolonged illness paralyzing succession and policy in Venezuela, and to Egypt’s King Farouk, morbidly obese, dying young of heart failure after years of excess.

Taken together, these precedents underscore a sobering lesson for today’s axis of autocracies. China, Russia, Iran, North Korea (often grouped as the so‑called “CRINK” states), and increasingly Venezuela all face succession risks that could generate abrupt discontinuity. Pyongyang, however, remains distinct. Extreme personalization of power, the absence of routinized succession mechanisms, and the centrality of nuclear weapons compress uncertainty rather than allowing it to unfold gradually. This makes any leadership shock uniquely costly: decisions that elsewhere play out over months could be forced into days, with nuclear security, alliance management, and great‑power signaling converging simultaneously.

Were Kim to die suddenly on an ordinary day, succession ambiguity, elevated military alert postures, and nuclear command questions would surface at the same time. The situation is further complicated by the lack of transparent health disclosure, delegated authority, or institutionalized handover—constraints that narrow elite bargaining space and push the system rapidly toward one of three familiar pathways. Two plausibly involve internal stabilization: the “Bloodline Restoration” Scenario, in which the Kim dynasty re‑consolidates power around a designated heir (possibly Kim Jong‑un’s daughter, Kim Ju‑ae); or the “Collective Politburo Governance” Scenario, in which elites coalesce into a technocratic leadership coalition. Absent either, the remaining outcome is the “Warlordization” Scenario—factionalized military chaos and internal collapse, with no coherent authority able to negotiate with or control events.

If Kim’s obesity‑related health risks intensify yet sheer luck keeps him upright through 2026, and President Trump floats a tongue‑in‑cheek confidence‑building gesture—say, an effective weight‑loss drug to keep Kim Jong‑un literally alive, repurposed as diplomatic leverage (sigh)—it would merely confirm how thin the margin for error has become.

And if Kim’s uncontrollable waistline were to achieve what special operations could not, even the most optimistically stable outcome—where President Trump still maintains a hotline with a familiar counterpart, the Kim dynasty—would read like a strange footnote. Washington would not be negotiating with a general or a committee, but with the dynasty’s next custodian—perhaps facing Kim’s daughter, Kim Ju‑ae, across the table—where a Barbie doll slides forward as an icebreaker, along with talk of opening a Toys“R”Us in Pyongyang.

Democracies outlast autocracies thanks to fewer fragile bodies at the top

For policymakers in democracies—where sustainable, healthy lifestyles are not only possible but institutionally supported—the contrast with autocracy carries a dry irony. When power is dispersed and institutions absorb shocks, one leader’s cholesterol no longer qualifies as a strategic variable. After all the grand theory and high geopolitics, the conclusion is stubbornly mundane: democracy lasts not because it is wiser, but because its risks are distributed across many bodies. It is, in the end, dispersed biological durability—not ideology or strategy—that makes democracy more endurable than autocracy.

Thus, this structural advantage is worth taking seriously in 2026 for decision‑makers in democracies. If there is a New Year’s resolution worth making, it is this modest one. Cut back on alcohol, drink more water. Walk between meetings. Treat exercise not as lifestyle branding but as occupational hygiene. Metabolic discipline is not self‑help; it is risk management. Strategic discipline, in turn, begins with bodily discipline. And because power is not trapped in one body, democracies retain a merciful escape hatch: if the job becomes unbearable or the public turns hostile, leaders can step aside, retire, or lose an election, rather than allowing a failing body to linger as a national‑security variable.

The world has no shortage of contingency plans. What it lacks are authoritarian leaders secure enough in both their institutions and their health not to turn their own waistlines into a geopolitical variable.

Several international and European human rights organizations along with hundreds of social media activists took part in a huge social media campaign in front of the European Parliament in an attempt to raise awareness regarding the human rights situation in Sudan and the use of chemical weapons against civilians following the report of France 24 ,the French channel together with a euronews report that showed members of EUB network which demonstrates the use of chemical weapons against civilians by the Sudanese Armed forces.

The media campaign in Europe comes as a continuous action to support the work of several human rights organizations which called upon the EU and international community to tell the Sudanese Armed forces to stop the use of chemical weapons and to call for ceasefire and peace as well as bring humanitarian aid to a suffering population.

It is also an action to inform young people in Europe and beyond about this forgotten crisis which caused the death of more than 150,000 people, the famine of more than 25 million people and the displacement of more than 14 million people.

Andy Vermaut, journalist and human rights defender, regretted that “Egypt, our neighbor across the sands, has aligned itself with the Sudanese Armed Forces, offering support that sustains the cycle of violence—support driven by borders and waters shared, yet prolonging the very chaos that drives refugees to their doors, over two million strong, fleeing homes turned to ash.”

According to Vermaut, “Iran extends its reach, arming the army with drones and weapons that tear through communities—exporting turmoil to a land already scarred by division, where ambition overshadows aid. Turkey and Qatar, too, lend their hands—through arms, through influence—turning Sudan’s internal strife into a theater of international ambition, where the powerful play games and the powerless pay the price; where alliances meant for stability instead fuel the fires of destruction.”

Vermaut continued, “And then there are the weapons that haunt our collective conscience: reports of chemical agents, chlorine gas deployed by the Sudanese army against its own people—choking the air of hope in places like Khartoum, violating every principle of human decency, echoing the horrors of wars we vowed never to repeat.”

Sadaf Daneshizadeh, representative of “Prosperous Iran”, joined this campaign by highlighting that “The Sudanese conflict must be analyzed not only as an internal crisis, but also within the broader context of regional dynamics. Several external actors, including the Islamic Republic of Iran, appear to be playing an indirect but significant role, notably through military cooperation and the transfer of capabilities, such as drone systems. These interactions, even when presented as strictly bilateral or defensive, contribute to the prolongation of hostilities and the worsening of the humanitarian situation.”

Manel Msalmi, women’s rights advocate and human rights advisor at Milton Friedman Institute, mentioned the report of France 24 and stressed the fact that “We all share a joint duty to uphold the rights and dignity of every individual, regardless of their location. We must not choose silence in the face of inaction; rather, we should raise our voices and ensure that the plight of the Sudanese people is acknowledged. To advocate for and support the Sudanese population, it is crucial to stay updated on the circumstances. This report aims to draw the world’s attention on the swiftly changing situation, underline the dangers of a further decline, and stress the immediate actions that are necessary to avoid further escalation.”

All the participants called for an immediate action, a ceasefire and a peace plan which guarantees access to humanitarian aid, food and shelter and put an end to the huge displacement crisis.

French President Emmanuel Macron and German Chancellor Friedrich Merz at the joint press conference of the European Digital Sovereignty Summit, Berlin, November 18, 2025. (picture alliance / Andreas Gora)

In November 2025, the European Union crossed a decisive threshold in its effort to safeguard its digital backbone from strategic vulnerabilities linked to Chinese technology. On November 10, Vice-President Henna Virkkunen introduced a legally binding proposal requiring all EU member states to phase out Huawei and ZTE equipment from their 5G and future telecommunications networks. This marked a sharp departure from the EU’s 2020 ‘5G Toolbox,’ which relied on non-binding recommendations and lacked enforcement mechanisms. The new plan—complete with financial penalties for non-compliance—makes clear that Beijing’s expanding technological influence, and Huawei’s entrenched position in particular, has become the central threat to the Union’s digital sovereignty.

Only a week after the phase-out announcement, EU leaders convened in Berlin for the Summit on European Digital Sovereignty on November 18. There, German Chancellor Friedrich Merz and French President Emmanuel Macron jointly emphasized that Europe must rapidly strengthen its strategic autonomy if it hopes to remain competitive in artificial intelligence, cloud computing, and semiconductors. Although the summit’s official agenda avoided explicitly naming China, Europe’s accelerating policy shift—including the renewed push to remove Huawei from its networks—made the underlying target difficult to miss. The subtext became even clearer when placed alongside Merz’s remarks at a business conference days earlier, where he outlined Germany’s new course: “We have decided within the government that wherever possible, we will replace components, for example, in the 5G network, with components that we produce ourselves,” he said, before adding, “and we will not allow any components from China in the 6G network.”

Europe’s consolidating consensus on a Huawei phase-out now sits alongside the EU AI Act of 2024 and the Cyber Resilience Act of the same year—two frameworks that impose strict cybersecurity and data-protection requirements designed to privilege trusted vendors over high-risk Chinese suppliers.

Unified Export Controls and Sanctions Might Accelerate Transatlantic AI Governance Convergence

The United States’ AI full-stack strategy, outlined in the July 2025 AI Action Plan, seeks to secure American advantage across the full technological chain—from semiconductor chips and high-performance computing to foundational models, data governance, and downstream applications. It blends restrictive measures and incentives: export controls, licensing rules, and standards-setting diplomacy operate as “sticks” to slow China’s access to frontier systems, while subsidies, joint research initiatives, and preferential integration into U.S.-led supply chains serve as “carrots” to draw allies into a shared technological ecosystem. Yet despite the strategy’s breadth, transatlantic coordination remains thin, lacking the institutional depth needed to support a truly integrated approach.

Europe’s recent moves, when viewed through the logic of the U.S. strategy’s sticks and carrots, provide new momentum for narrowing this gap. If Washington can translate this moment into practical institutional mechanisms, the full-stack strategy could serve as a strategic scaffold—offering political reassurance, regulatory leverage, and innovation resources that help Europe consolidate its trusted telecommunications infrastructure while advancing its broader digital sovereignty. In such a coordinated transatlantic framework, the United States and Europe together reinforce the foundations of a shared ‘free world’ technological space, reducing the free world’s dependence on Chinese digital and hardware ecosystems.

This convergence, however, remains fragile. Major EU regulatory projects, including the 2024 AI Act, must still reconcile competing demands from domestic constituencies and both European and American technology firms. The bloc’s struggle over the Huawei question illustrates these tensions vividly. Years of friction between security hawks and economic pragmatists meant that, after the 2020 ‘5G Toolbox,’ only 10–13 member states implemented meaningful restrictions. Germany hesitated largely because Huawei offered a 20–30 percent cost advantage over Nokia and Ericsson, compounded by significant sunk investments in its already‑deployed infrastructure—factors that made a rapid, full ban economically burdensome. Spain faced similar incentives: Telefónica had renewed a Huawei 5G core contract through 2030 and relied heavily on Huawei’s lower‑cost equipment and existing deployments, making an abrupt shift technically and financially challenging. Even so, by July 2025 Madrid committed to phasing out Huawei equipment in Spain and Germany to comply with tightening EU‑level security requirements, while maintaining Huawei systems in Brazil, where no such restrictions applied. Ultimately, Germany and France converged on a stabilizing middle path. Berlin sought to reconcile economic pragmatism with mounting security imperatives by offering subsidies to Deutsche Telekom, Vodafone, and Telefónica to complete equipment swaps by 2027. Paris—more hawkish from the outset—reinforced this trajectory by consistently framing Chinese vendors as fundamental sovereignty risks, helping steer the broader EU toward a more unified and security‑driven position.

These internal pressures help explain the endogenous nature of broader transatlantic divergences—differences that analysts at the Atlantic Council characterize as structural, rooted in the EU’s more precautionary regulatory philosophy, its deeper emphasis on market fairness, and its persistent drive for ‘strategic autonomy,’ especially in digital governance.Yet despite unresolved frictions, convergence is strong where both sides perceive systemic risk—data security, supply-chain resilience, and preventing the militarization of AI and quantum technologies by authoritarian states. The real task is, thus, to translate these shared anxieties into structured cooperation before divergences harden.

Coordinated export controls and sanctions offer a particularly strong pathway for accelerating transatlantic AI governance convergence. These instruments cut to the core of what makes uncoordinated national responses inadequate in an era defined by overproduction, supply-chain dominance, and state-supported technological scaling by Chinese-linked firms. For individual states, unilateral measures against China’s rapid advances are insufficient. But the United States and Europe possess complementary strengths—American technological leadership, European regulatory capacity, and the combined market power of the transatlantic economy—that can turn coordination into the linchpin of a coherent strategy. When synchronized, such controls help bridge differences in high-risk AI safety practices, fortify supply chains, and close loopholes that currently undermine enforcement.

Building this coordination requires elevating emerging-technology policy into a top-tier transatlantic channel—most naturally through a strengthened Trade and Technology Council (TTC). Within such an upgraded framework, Washington and Brussels could operationalize a common approach to high-risk technologies by jointly defining safety expectations for advanced AI systems, aligning listings and sanctions on sensitive Chinese-linked firms, tightening oversight of technology and data flows, coordinating early on outbound investment, and cooperating to disrupt diversion networks operating through Russia and other intermediaries. As analysts at the Atlantic Council note, these mechanisms offer more than technical alignment: they create the institutional fabric that allows the United States and Europe to manage systemic technological risks together rather than in parallel.

A fully developed TTC of this kind would also serve as the platform for narrowing existing regulatory gaps. The United States, for instance, could work with the European Commission (EC) to build an ‘AI-governance bridge’ that provides companies with predictable operational expectations across jurisdictions even when the laws are not identical. Synchronizing sanctions and export restrictions with the Commission and the European External Action Service (EEAS) would tighten enforcement and limit opportunities for evasion. Simultaneously, deeper collaboration with the Directorate-General for Trade (DG TRADE) would help Europe construct a more coherent export-control regime that complements the protective goals embedded in Washington’s AI Action Plan. Reciprocal notification requirements and shared-risk taxonomies for outbound investment would round out this architecture, laying the foundation for a future transatlantic screening system capable of managing strategic leakage at its source. Such alignment would extend the reach of transatlantic AI export controls and sanctions beyond bilateral borders, establishing global standards that shape technology flows worldwide through tiered licensing and extraterritorial enforcement mechanisms.

Rising International Multi-Layer Governance Threats from China to Transatlantic AI Governance

LGU+’s Huawei-linked IoT lab exposes how corporate dependencies can strengthen China’s leverage over allied digital systems.

Recent developments in Northeast Asia illustrate why transatlantic coordination on AI governance and high-risk technology controls must extend far beyond national capitals. In 2020, the U.S. State Department publicly warned LGU+ that continued reliance on Huawei equipment could expose the operator to serious reputational, legal, and security risks—part of Washington’s broader push to discourage high-risk vendors within allied 5G ecosystems. Five years later, during a 2025 parliamentary oversight hearing, LGU+ was again criticized for still operating Huawei-supplied 5G equipment, underscoring how entrenched procurement decisions can harden into long-term structural dependencies even after security concerns become explicit.

In September 2025, Mayor Kang Ki-jung’s Gwangju delegation visited Huawei’s 1.6 km² Shanghai Research Campus, revealing how municipal engagement can strengthen China’s strategic leverage.

Municipal dynamics reveal a similar vulnerability. Last September, Gwangju conducted an official visit to Huawei’s 1.6 km² Shanghai research campus as part of its effort to benchmark smart-city and AI-hub strategies. Though framed as a technical mission, the visit created an opening for Beijing to cultivate influence over subnational officials whose infrastructure preferences increasingly shape the region’s technological trajectory. Such episodes highlight how Chinese firms strategically leverage local development incentives to embed themselves in urban infrastructure planning—well beyond the oversight reach of national authorities.

These cases illuminate a broader strategic tension: while the free world benefits from maintaining limited, cooperative grey zones that allow behavioral observation of Chinese technological conduct, these same spaces create opportunities for Beijing to conduct its own counter-conditioning. The challenge is therefore not simply to preserve channels for observation, but to define the permissible boundaries of these grey zones and discipline the risks associated with them. Without clearer parameters, cooperation intended to generate insight can gradually drift toward structural dependence.

Taken together, these developments are not merely warning signs; they constitute a new frontier of strategic challenge for the transatlantic community. They underscore an underappreciated reality: high-risk technology penetration increasingly occurs through governance layers that traditional export-control systems were never designed to monitor. Ensuring technological security now requires policy mechanisms that span the full chain of decision-making—from national ministries to regional telecom operators to municipal administrations—each capable of introducing vulnerabilities that adversarial firms can exploit. Strengthening vendor‑risk standards, aligning licensing rules, and coordinating penalties across jurisdictions have thus become essential to prevent subnational gaps from crystallizing into strategic footholds for authoritarian influence.

Conclusion: Cultivating Carrots to Advance Transatlantic AI Coordination

Yet institutional alignment alone cannot build a durable front. Sustained cooperation depends on credible economic incentives that make participation strategically and commercially viable for allies. The next phase of transatlantic technological strategy must therefore pair regulatory ambition with material commitments that reduce the political and economic friction of compliance. If Washington couples its institutional efforts with meaningful economic commitments—co‑funded infrastructure, joint R&D programs, and clear assurances that export controls will not become instruments of unilateral commercial gain—its AI full‑stack strategy could evolve from a national blueprint into the backbone of a transatlantic technological alliance.

Such an alliance would not only strengthen the free world’s ability to resist Chinese technological influence but would also offer a coherent model for global technology governance—one grounded in transparency, high‑standard safety, shared economic opportunity, and a rules‑based order capable of shaping the next generation of advanced technologies. In this sense, transatlantic coordination is no longer a desirable accessory to national strategies; it is the essential foundation for securing the free world technological frontier in the decade ahead.

 

Colombian Air Force Kfir fighter jets fly in formation during the military parade to commemorate Colombia’s Independence Day in Bogota on July 20, 2024. (Alejandro Martinez/AFP)

There has been a lot of discussions on US plans in addressing security issues with Venezuela, as US forces take to targeting boats related to cartels attempting to bring narcotics into the United States. While the likelihood of a full assault on Venezuela would mirror the recent strikes on Iran as opposed to a strategy of regime change like in Iraq and Afghanistan, the success in assaulting the most well equipped nation in Latin America comes with significant risks to US forces.

Venezuela has been the benefactor of past procurements of weapons systems from the United States. In the pre-Chavez era, Venezuela was tasked with protecting not only itself, but American and foreign owned oil production assets. This close relationship between the US and Venezuela enabled the former ally to purchase early F-16 jets and rely on the overall protection of US assets in the region. With the start of the Chavez regime, Venezuela moved to a policy of expropriation, the cutting of ties with the West, and massive purchases of Russian military equipment, specifically the SU-30 fighter platform. With Venezuela’s border nations flying older Kfir jets and Mirage IIIE/5s, the SU-30s gave Venezuela a massive advantage in air superiority, now having the most capable fighter jets in the Americas after the United States.

While air defence over Venezuela would start with their SU-30 radars and longer range missiles intercepting incoming threats, Venezuela also obtained a layered air defence network from Russia and radars from China. Venezuela has not just one of the most capable air defence networks in Latin America, but worldwide. Chinese radars are some of the more modern variants available for territorial defence, systems which are now operational in Venezuela. To target longer range threats from the air and evasive missile threats, the export version of the S-300VM is operational in Venezuela. The S-300VM is the export tracked version of Russia’s S-300 missile system, and is one of the most capable systems in the world. To support the S-300VMs, Venezuela also uses the modern BUK-M2 for medium to long range air defence, a system that matches anything operational in the War in Ukraine in 2025. An assault on Venezuela may require more advanced techniques than even the recent strikes on Iran, as their systems are more modern than some of those that were operating in Iran before the strikes.

Being well known for many decades, and becoming more popularized in the movie Top Gun: Maverick, Venezuela operates the SA-3 air defense missile system. While not used as they would operate in real life in the movie, the SA-3 when used en masse would cause a lot of chaos in the air for any non-stealth aircraft conducting an assault on Venezuela. While the F-35s and F-22s would be a solution to avoiding the SA-3’s modernised radars in Venezuela, it would have made for a less exciting movie. A a mark of excellence, of good training by the SA-3 radar operators, and mistakes by the pilot and his support structures, an SA-3 was able to shoot down a F-117 stealth bomber over Serbia in the 1999. Even in chess, the Pawn sometimes is lucky enough to kill a King.

While the common theme when speaking about a US assault on Venezuela does not consider the mission to have great risks overall, mistakes could lead to US pilots being shot down. With multiple scenarios of defeating both S-300 systems and BUK-M2s having taken place in Ukraine, US forces likely have a good base of knowledge on how to defeat these systems in real world combat scenarios. Venezuela is quite a large country, and the very limited number of S-300VMs is not adequate to defend the entire territory. Lacking a sufficient number of BUK-M2s is also a problem and the SA-3 systems can be carefully avoided or defeated via cruise missile strikes on their radar hubs and launchers themselves. In reality, those missiles would have been taken out by overwhelming waves of Tomahawk cruise missile strikes in order to save Tom Cruise an Miles Teller a lot of grief, and in real life, all of the S-300VMs, BUK-M2s and SA-3s would be hit early with the Chinese made radars seeing the strikes coming in and being subject to them directly. If US bravado on Venezuela turns to conflict, waves of missiles would be what strikes Venezuela first and perhaps last, with no pilots being put at risk in the initial assault. The loss of US lives in combat with Venezuela would sour the public on any coercive actions, but the bluff might be worth the reward in the view of the current US Administration.

At first glance, the comparison seems almost absurd. Mongolia, a vast country with enormous mineral wealth, stretching between two geopolitical giants, versus Belize, a small Central American state with limited territory, modest population and no strategic depth. By classical logic, Mongolia should be the stronger actor in economic sovereignty. Yet recent analytical measurements reveal a far more counterintuitive reality: Belize today demonstrates a higher level of practical economic sovereignty than Mongolia.   As an expert of the International Burke Institute and an active participant in projects aimed at strengthening national sovereignty, I encounter such paradoxes with increasing frequency. They reveal one of the central truths of the modern world: economic sovereignty is no longer a function of size, territory, or raw resources. It is a function of control, diversification, resilience and institutional discipline.   Mongolia is rich in coal, copper, gold and rare earth elements. Its underground wealth is undeniable. Yet much of its economic model remains structurally dependent on a narrow export base and on external demand, primarily from a single dominant market. This creates a classic dependency trap. When prices fluctuate or geopolitical pressure intensifies, Mongolia’s fiscal stability, currency strength and social balance become immediately vulnerable to external forces it does not control.   Belize, by contrast, lacks large-scale mineral reserves and does not command major industrial capacity. But over the past two decades it has built something far more decisive for modern sovereignty: a diversified economic structure that reduces exposure to single-source dependency. Tourism, financial services, agriculture, logistics and digital services form a balanced ecosystem. None of these sectors dominates absolutely, yet together they form a resilient economic architecture.   Economic sovereignty is not measured by how much a country exports, but by how freely it can decide under pressure. A state that earns billions from raw materials but cannot influence pricing, transportation routes or investment conditions is not fully sovereign in economic terms. It is economically active, but strategically constrained. This is where Mongolia’s vulnerability becomes evident. Its resources generate revenue, but not full control.   Belize’s advantage lies not in volume, but in flexibility. Its economy is small, but adaptive. External shocks do not collapse the entire system at once. Currency policy, fiscal regulation and sectoral balance provide room for maneuver. In moments of global turbulence, this flexibility becomes a strategic asset far more valuable than sheer scale.   At the International Burke Institute, where we are finalizing the comprehensive Sovereignty Index to be presented this December for all UN member states, economic sovereignty is assessed not by GDP alone, but by a deeper set of indicators. These include dependency ratios, trade concentration, fiscal autonomy, financial system resilience and the state’s capacity to absorb shocks without losing strategic autonomy. It is within this multidimensional framework that Belize unexpectedly outperforms Mongolia.   As someone directly engaged in both the analytical and practical dimensions of this work, I see a pattern repeating across regions. States that rely heavily on a narrow economic corridor — one commodity, one route, one partner — accumulate invisible vulnerabilities. Their economies may look strong in growth charts, but their sovereignty erodes silently through structural exposure. When disruption comes, decision-making becomes reactive rather than sovereign.   Belize followed a different logic. Instead of maximizing output from a single dominant resource, it invested in balancing multiple smaller sectors. This did not produce spectacular growth headlines. But it produced something far more durable: economic independence in critical moments. Sovereignty is not tested in times of prosperity. It is tested when options disappear.   Mongolia now faces the classic dilemma of many resource-rich states: how to convert natural wealth into strategic autonomy rather than long-term dependence. The answer lies not in extracting more, but in restructuring more. Without diversification, even the richest subsoil becomes a fragile foundation for sovereignty.   The Belize–Mongolia contrast illustrates a broader truth about the modern global system. Size no longer guarantees strength. Wealth no longer guarantees independence. What matters is the architecture of control. Who sets the terms of trade? Who controls capital flows? Who absorbs the first удар during a crisis?   In December, when the full Sovereignty Index is released, many governments will confront similar surprises. Some large states will discover hidden fragility. Some small ones will discover unexpected strength. And many will face an uncomfortable realization: economic sovereignty today is built not by scale, but by structure.   Belize did not become stronger than Mongolia by growing bigger. It became stronger by becoming smarter in how it organizes dependency and control. And in the modern world, that difference defines who truly holds economic sovereignty — and who merely appears to.